


Taste of a Poison Paradise

by heavenlyfires



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Forbidden Love, Halloween, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, Modern Fantasy, Pining Keith (Voltron), Protective Lance (Voltron), Rivals to Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Smitten Keith (Voltron), Sweet Lance (Voltron), Urban Fantasy, Vaguely Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Werewolf Keith (Voltron), Witch Lance (Voltron), Witchcraft, as in spooky vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenlyfires/pseuds/heavenlyfires
Summary: Lance is— sweet and kind and funny and brilliant and— and not this cold eyed, sharp tongued, glowing-skinnedstrangerin front of him.Keith continues to stand there, uprooted, flailing for any strand of reason that can reconcile the beautiful person he knows with the very thing he hates. It doesn’t help that Lance seems to have no trouble, fixing him with a disdainful sneer and arched brow.Stars and moon, how many times has Keith imagined kissing the arch of that brow? How many times has he imagined kissing the slender column of that neck? Biting and claiming, marking the perfect skin as his, forever. Never knowing the magic that simmered just under the surface.Never knowing that wonderful,perfectLance was his worst enemy.Werewolves and witches have been mortal enemies for ages. And Keith has hated witches as much as — no,more than— any of his fellow werewolves.Witches are dangerous, dirty,evil. So how can it be that the boy he's in love with is one of them?
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 457





	Taste of a Poison Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my socials if you like!  
> Twitter: @firesheavenly (NSFW)  
> Tumblr: heavenlyfires (SFW)

The moon is high, Altea Manor sparkles in the night, and the blood _sings_ through Keith’s veins.

This time of year, the moon is at its strongest, calling to the magic in Keith’s veins and awakening his inner wolf. Even now, in his human form, he can access it, tap into his wolfish strength or senses. He revels in it. His eyes glow lupine gold and his blood tinges the same, the magic lacing it activated under the light of the moon. 

It makes him feel invincible.

Which is sorely needed, considering he’s about to step foot where he very well could end up fighting for his life: Allura Altea’s annual Halloween party.

It sounds innocent enough, a revel hosted by the vampire to unite the supernatural community on their unanimous day of celebration, the day when magic runs deepest in their veins. And Keith truly believes Allura means it as a way to build trust in their little, secretive community. 

But all trust crumbles into ash with witches around.

For an immortal as wise and powerful as Allura, it’s baffling to see her attribute any goodwill to their local covens. Witches are dangerous, not necessarily for being more powerful than other beings — Keith’s fought his fair share of them and won — but for their craftiness, their willingness to cause harm just to give themselves more power. They’re treacherous beings, inherently conniving and twisted. It’s the corruption of the Craft. Witchcraft magic isn’t given by the moon like Keith’s; it’s siphoned out of nature — its rightful place — by greedy, destructive people. Witches.

He hates them. All werewolves do, the vendetta between them going back centuries. Witches have always been causing trouble, and werewolves have been the only ones to actually fucking call them out on it. 

Keith _hates_ them. Has always hated them.

Even before they killed his father. Even before his mother had to flee, scouring the world for a cure for the hex slowly draining away her life, leaving a ten year old Keith under the care of their pack and never daring to come back.

Now, with ten more years under his belt, Keith knows to avoid witches unless he’s itching for a fight. Suffice to say, Keith would be steering well clear of this party — this whole _manor_ — if it weren’t for Shiro.

Shiro needs a favor from Allura, and the best time to approach her under the radar is now, when no one will suspect his reasons for venturing to the manor. It would be just as suspicious for him to have come alone, without the rest of the pack. Hence, Keith’s unhappy presence here. But that means Keith’ll be damned if he goes in before Shiro gets here. He hates _regular_ parties; he’s not about to subject himself to whatever nightmare waits within without his pack there to back him up.

So now he waits, loitering in the trees and pacing as the blood howls in his veins. Keith wants to avoid a fight if he can; the wolf inside him says _bring out the blood_.

His phone buzzes.

It’s not Shiro, surprisingly enough— it’s Lance. Keith’s blood settles a little.

_Keithhhhhh save meeeee_

_I’m so bored 😭😩_

_Please tell me *you’re* at least doing something interesting for Halloween_

A smile comes unbidden to Keith’s face. Lance, his friend — his something _more_ , maybe — from college. They’d had a rocky start, first meeting each other as rivals in Iverson’s philosophy class, always ending up in heated debate as the rest of the class watched on, engrossed. Then one day Keith had bumped into Lance at office hours and… Lance had been so passionate and intelligent and _beautiful_ as he rambled to Iverson about some allegory or another, and Keith had done something impulsive.

“Hey, Lance!” he’d called after him once they’d left. Lance had glanced back in confusion as Keith made his way over, a wariness entering his eyes as if he expected another argument. 

Keith wasn’t there to argue. 

“Do you wanna— uh. Would you wanna hang out sometime?” He’d asked, not exactly his suavest moment.

But then Lance had turned wide, happy, _starstruck_ eyes on him, and — well. The rest was history.

There’s something unspoken between them now, a lingering affection — a _pull_ — that warms the air between them. And Keith’s just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to let his pining heart spill over and make Lance his. Sometime soon, he thinks.

He looks back at Lance's message.

_That bad?_

_So bad 😔 this has gotta be the most boring party ever_

_PLEASE tell me you’re doing something cool_

_I need to live vicariously through you!!_

_Sorry, Lance, nothing too exciting._

_Just some “family bonding time”, courtesy of Shiro._

_Awww that’s so cute 🥰 Shiro always sounds so nice, when will I get to meet him??_

Wow, okay. Keith’s chest was _not_ prepared to think about Lance meeting his family. It spurs on a bunch of other thoughts about welcoming Lance into their pack, about kissing him stupid and biting a claiming mark into the nape of his neck.

_Someday soon, hopefully._

He grins down at the screen. _Yeah, sometime soon,_ he thinks. The phone buzzes again.

_OH! Should I make him a bracelet, too? Do you think he’d like that 🥺_

_Wait, you’re wearing the one I made you, right?_

_Yeah, of course._

_And thank you again for that, Lance. It’s beautiful._

Keith looks down fondly at the band of black and red striping his wrist. Never had he struggled so much against the urge to kiss Lance as when he’d giddily presented Keith with the woven bracelet — “cause you’re important to me,” he’d said — two days ago. Keith’s heart putters stupidly whenever he imagines Lance’s slender fingers painstakingly tying every knot, thinking of Keith all the while.

He loves it.

Come to think of it, he’s pretty sure he loves Lance, too.

“Ready to head inside?”

Keith jumps and tenses, whirling around on the spot.

“Shit, Shiro, a warning would’ve been appreciated.”

Shiro just grins at him. “Not my fault you’re too enamored with that boy to pay attention to anything else.”

Kolivan frowns from over Shiro’s shoulder. Oh. The whole pack’s here.

“You should keep your senses about you, boy,” he warns. “The garrison coven will be here tonight.” He scans his gaze over the whole pack — Ulaz and Regris and Shiro and Keith and Thace — with flinty eyes, ever the stern pack leader. His eyes lock with Keith’s again. “We have to be on our guard.”

Keith shoves his phone in his pocket and scowls back.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I can handle some witches.”

Kolivan nods. “Let’s go, then.”

And they’re off.

* * *

The manor is, predictably, gorgeous.

“Stars and moon,” Thace whispers as they enter through the grandiose foyer. There’s light, gold, and the flash of magic everywhere. In the throng of people — various supernatural beings, nymphs, vampires, sprites, gnomes, and all other manner of creatures — Allura Altea is instantly recognizable.

Her white hair catches the light, her impeccable makeup and gown lending her an air of royalty. She locks eyes with their group in an instant. And immediately, she makes her way to them, the partygoers easily parting to let her through and then returning to their conversations as she passes. She really does seem like a queen.

But Keith’s not here to socialize. Shiro gives the rest of the pack a meaningful look, eager to talk to Allura privately about his favor, and Keith slinks off into a side room with Ulaz.

As he wanders, Keith can’t help but think of Lance, trapped in his own uncomfortable Halloween party, albeit more mortal and mundane. He checks his phone — no messages— and immediately kicks himself for being unable to go ten minutes without thinking of Lance, even when he should be on his guard. Stars, he’s really whipped, isn’t he?

Eventually, they end up outside, on the flat, candlelit patio behind the manor. It’s large but plain, fading without ceremony into the trees. Good for Allura’s hunting, maybe. The air nips at Keith’s skin, and though there’s a good number of people engaged in their own quiet conversations out here, the wind still weaves its way between them. It doesn’t matter; Keith has always run warm. And now, with the full moon fast approaching, he draws comfort in being bathed in moonlight. 

Ulaz touches his shoulder and makes a motion with his head. Keith knows what he’s saying: _I’m heading inside, be right back._ He nods and watches Ulaz leave, idly fingering the cup he picked up somewhere and trying to look intimidating enough that no one will talk to him.

It works. Until:

“Well, look what we have here. A wild wolf, and in polite company, too! Animal control miss you on their last pass through here, Kogane?”

Keith turns and lets a growl out before he can stop himself.

“ _Griffin,”_ he snarls. “I should’ve known you’d be here.”

His lip curls up in disdain as he looks the witch up and down, from his cocky lean on the brick wall of the house to his arrogant face to the glowing lines swirling up his forearms. Each witch has their own tattoos, their own design and colors and placement, but the cerulean petals on Griffin's right arm mark him as a member of the garrison coven. It’s... unsightly. Keith thinks he’s never wanted to punch someone so much.

His wolf is howling for a fight.

“What can I say, I love putting you in your place,” Griffin sneers. As if Keith didn’t leave him bruised and bloodied after their last run in.

“If it’s a fight you want, you’ll get it,” Keith says, letting his tone drop low and threatening. He crosses his arms, watches in satisfaction as Griffin's gaze drops downward to follow the motion and catch the rippling of his biceps. Then Griffin freezes.

Which is odd. He’s always had a big bark, James. Keith can’t think of what might have finally shut him up.

“Where did you get that?” James asks, dangerously low. And Keith sees that his eyes are locked on Keith’s bracelet. _Lance’s_ bracelet, tied snugly around his wrist.

He instantly bristles.

“None of your business,” he snaps.

But Griffin isn’t so easily deterred.

“Where. Did. You. Get. That!” He growls, and Keith’s absently thankful that everyone else is absorbed into their own conversations. He can dish out a fight no problem, but he’s never liked having so many eyes on him.

“A friend,” Keith sneers, letting his own anger build as Griffin’s does. “Maybe you’ve heard of the concept—“

“If you come near Lance, Kogane, I swear to God I’ll—“

Keith stops listening, startled enough to tune out the rest of Griffin’s sentence. Lance. _How does Griffin know Lance,_ he thinks, stomach dropped in dread. If Griffin thinks he can hurt Lance, use him in any of his evil schemes—

But now it’s Keith’s turn to notice something.

Griffin wears a bracelet on his wrist, too. The colors are different, but the pattern is the same. Lance made it, Keith’s suddenly sure of it.

His stomach lurches. Does that...?

“— don’t know what your game is, but if you come near a member of my coven ever again, I’ll—“

A member of his coven. Lance—? 

_No._

_No, it can’t be._

Suddenly nauseous, Keith pushes past Griffin, ignoring his cries of indignation. He stumbles past the other people on the patio until he finds a pocket of space, breathing in the fresh air. 

_Don’t jump to conclusions,_ he tells himself. But on the breeze, he catches a whiff of his favorite scent on the planet: salt and citrus and something sweeter underneath. Lance.

 _Oh stars, no,_ he thinks. Because — because that would be impossible, right? There’s no way.

There’s no way. He follows his nose desperately, convincing himself that the scent will fade and he’ll realize Griffin — who hasn’t seemed to follow him, thank goodness — was just talking shit. It leads him toward the end of the patio, at the extremes of the crowd and cut off from anyone he knows. From his pack.

And then he hears that voice:

“— what are you talking about? You saw who? Slow down, Griffin, you’re talking too fast.”

A head of chestnut curls, bowed as the owner frowns into a phone. A tall, slim build and sweet voice. A swirl of glowing flowers inking up a smooth brown shoulder and slender neck.

“No,” Keith says, gutted.

The man jumps, whirls, and freezes.

And Lance McClain — very much a _witch —_ meets Keith eye to eye.

Dumbfounded silence.

Lance hangs up, arm dropping limply to his side. “Keith—?” He asks, eyes hurting, then shutters his expression, the answer obvious in his eyes.

Lance’s face closes off, a steep departure from the emotion he’s freely showcased every waking moment that Keith’s known him, a stiffening of his usually expressive features into something totally alien. It renders him stonelike, the carving of a face Keith’s never seen before. Lance narrows his eyes.

“Family bonding time, huh,” he says coolly, _pointedly_.

Keith just stares. Finally, he works his throat into some semblance of working order.

“You’re a witch,” he accuses. He can’t help the way his mouth shapes the syllables darkly, the way his tone inflects downward, approaching a growl. His voice is rough — hostile — even to his own ears, equal parts furious and devastated.

“And you… _werewolf,_ ” Lance sneers.

It feels like a spike of silver in his heart.

Lance is— sweet and kind and funny and brilliant and— and not this cold eyed, sharp tongued, glowing-skinned _stranger_ in front of him.

Keith continues to stand there, uprooted, flailing for any strand of reason that can reconcile the beautiful person he knows with the very thing he hates. It doesn’t help that Lance seems to have no trouble, fixing him with a disdainful sneer and glaring brow.

Stars and moon, how many times has Keith imagined kissing the arch of that brow? How many times has he imagined kissing the slender column of that neck? Biting, claiming, marking the perfect skin as his, forever. Never knowing the magic that simmered just under the surface.

Never knowing that wonderful, _perfect_ Lance was his worst enemy.

“You—“ he starts. He cuts himself off as his throat closes. This is the man he wanted to mate. A jagged breath tears from his chest as the sting of betrayal registers. Lance was always so _sweet,_ nothing like the witches Keith’s known. Was it all a lie?

And it’s not just betrayal by Lance; witches are just as secretive as werewolves, it’s no surprise neither of them revealed their secret. Rather, he curses the moon:

She’s supposed to look after him, lead him to his life mate, and yet she let him believe it could be Lance. She’d watched in silence as Keith lost his heart to this — this _monster_ in front of him.

Keith can’t keep the anguish off his face. He feels his features twist as that silver stake drives deeper inside his chest.

For a second, Lance’s facade breaks. “ _Keith,”_ he whispers, brows tilting and eyes soulful. He reaches out as if to cup Keith’s face, an aborted movement that he cuts off before it even begins. He squeezes his eyes shut tight — he’s so beautiful, _stars_ — and when he lets his face relax it’s back into that carefully blank expression. Every vertex of his face is cool, the delicate features sharpening into points of ice. 

“We shouldn’t be seen together,” he says, a different person. He inclines his head just so, the tiniest angle, but Keith’s so attuned to every move Lance makes that he can’t miss it. 

Lance moves to walk past Keith without making eye contact. He freezes mid step, though, just as he pulls level with Keith’s shoulder, as if stopped by an invisible thread strung across the way. As if something inside him won’t let him leave just yet. Keith looks at him cautiously, cataloguing each action with the roiling of hate and love and revolt and confusion in his gut. Lance isn’t looking at him. Instead, he stares straight ahead, something awful and conflicted on his face. Finally, he blinks, inhales, and says in a voice thinned out to the smallest whisper: “Goodbye, Keith.”

And there he goes, taking Keith’s heart with him. 

Keith turns over his shoulder, pulled in Lance’s sway, watching the steady retreat of his back and tracking the glow of his tattoos as he makes his way toward the trees, head bowed. Keith holds out, anguished, until Lance steps right past the tree line.

Then he snaps.

“Wait!” He calls, desperate. He crosses the yard in an unnatural burst of speed and grabs Lance’s wrist, latching on before he can disappear forever. He’s still reeling, still disoriented from the subversion of everything he thought he knew. He feels adrift; he knows nothing.

Except one thing. He can’t let Lance out of his sight. 

“Don’t go.”

Lance freezes in his tracks, shoulders hiking up toward his ears. Then he rounds on Keith, indignant and frustrated. He glances nervously upward at the manor. “We can’t _do_ this,” he hisses angrily, jaw clenching. He tugs at his wrist but it’s stuck, locked in Keith’s iron hold. His voice shrills slightly, taking on a panicked edge. “Keith, let _go,”_ he pleads, eyes flicking back to the house again.

“Don’t go,” Keith begs. “Don’t go, just— let me talk to you.” He breathes deeply, once, to calm his raging heartbeat. His eyes seek out Lances and hold, pushing every ounce of desperation into his gaze. “Please.”

And then Lance is searching his gaze, finding _something_ there that makes him sigh, glance around furtively, and step backward, pulling Keith with him into the trees. He stops a few feet in, leaving them shadowed in darkness and invisible to any party goer’s curious gaze.

This time, when he pulls his wrist away sharply, Keith lets him go.

“Fine. Speak,” Lance commands. He crosses his arms over his chest, obviously waiting for an explanation.

The problem is, Keith’s speechless. He’s never been good with words, but now, here, after such emotional whiplash, he’s floundering for the words to express the thorny copse in his chest, tangled and stinging. 

Even all else aside, the vision that Lance makes in this shadowed thicket would render him speechless. In the dark, Lance’s tattoos glow stronger than ever, gorgeous color that limns the sharp edge of his jaw and catches on his long, wispy lashes. Craft magic glows from him, the cerulean gleam of his eyes startling and enrapturing. 

The marks of the Craft have never filled Keith with anything other than disgust, hate, _resentment…_ but scrawled over Lance’s skin, they turn beautiful. Impossibly. 

“I don’t hate you,” Keith breathes, “if that’s what you’re thinking. I can’t. I _won’t_ .” He steps closer, chasing even as Lance backs away. Lance's back hits an old oak trunk, and Keith takes advantage of it, closing the distance between them until they’re face to face, Lances chin lifted defiantly to keep their stares locked. His eyes — so blue, so _gorgeous_ up close— hold vitriol, but something’s swirling under the surface.

It’s a little bit of hope, Keith thinks.

“Lance,” he continues. He lifts a hand and traces the color bursting from Lance's collarbone. They both gasp at the contact, the touch of their magics together sending sparks through them. It only draws Keith in more, just one more reason for him to be captivated by Lance. “I know you feel it, too.”

“The shock?” Lance spits, still clinging to his animosity, but his voice wobbles. “Yeah, kinda hard to miss our magics _literally_ telling us to keep away from each other.” 

It makes Keith want to howl in frustration. He _knows_ Lance can tell that he’s talking about something deeper here. The witch is trying to stay cool, to act like Keith’s crazy, but the waver in his voice gives away the game. There’s... a thread of terror there, Keith thinks. Lance is scared to admit it.

“ _No,_ ” Keith growls. “You know what I’m talking about, Lance.” He tilts his head down so their foreheads press together and slides his hand up to cup Lance’s cheek.

“You _must_ feel it. There’s—“ he chokes, so full of emotion that he can barely form the words. How can he say that his soul is _begging_ him to keep Lance close, forever and longer? 

He was wrong earlier. They’re meant to be together; this... thing between them _can’t_ just be in his head. It’s fate. He knows it as sure as he knows the moon.

“There’s no way you don’t, Lance,” he says, ragged. He breathes the words into the space between them, into the air they share. “ _Please,_ tell me you feel it, too.”

And he watches Lance fight it, head tilting up and eyes fluttering closed despite himself — surrendering to the feeling — only to scrunch up his brow suddenly and turn his head away. He’s trying to hide it, but Keith’s keen eyes see anguish in the lines of his face.

Lance inhales something jagged, his whole body stiffening. “I don’t know what—“

Keith kisses him.

If he can’t get Lance to admit to the magnetism between them, he’ll _show_ him. He’ll let the pull that connects them get so strong that Lance can’t possibly ignore it. 

And _oh,_ what a pull it is.

As soon as their lips connect, a floodgate opens in Keith’s sixth sense. His hearing, vision, sense of smell… all of it expands outward in a rush, his already heightened senses boosted by extremes. More than that, it’s not just that he hears and smells and _sees_ ; he can feel the very forest around them, every bit of life suddenly obvious around him. 

The breath is pushed out of him in one startled whoosh as it hits him. The new awareness prickles along his body and suddenly he knows what it is: it’s Craft.

It’s _Lance’s_ Craft.

And he’s always known that Craft magic is gross, unnatural, disgusting... but it’s _not_ . It’s clean and warm and earthy and _good_ as it travels through him. Their magics are mixing, again, but better and more completely, two threads twining into one and becoming something undoubtedly _powerful_. It’s the swoop of adrenaline from a midnight chase through the woods. It’s the buzz of pride and satisfaction from casting a spell and seeing it catch. It’s perfect.

 _They’re_ perfect. They fit so well together; Lance is just the right size and shape for his arms, is moving so sweetly, letting himself fall into the kiss. Keith pulls him closer and revels in the pleasure of his taste.

 _You were right, you were right,_ he thinks at the moon. _He_ is _mine._

_And I am his._

When they break apart, Lance’s cheeks are flushed, his lashes are fluttering, and his breathing is unsteady. And Keith is hit with the most powerful burst of affection he’s ever felt.

“Stars and moon, you are _so beautiful_ ,” he breathes, wrecked. “Lance, I—“

Lance kisses him again. For a few glimmering seconds their lips slide together perfectly, their hands clasping and bodies pressed close. It’s just as good as the first time; better, even, now that Keith knows just how to hold Lance, knows just how to kiss him to pull breathy sounds of want from his mouth. Now that Lance has worked up his courage and kisses Keith like he’s fighting for it.

But soon Lance’s hands are pushing at his chest, pushing them apart even as Lance’s lips seem reluctant to leave his.

“Fuck, wait. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Keith, we can’t do this,” he pants, hysteria lilting his words up. “We—“

“We can,” Keith argues against his lips. He pushes reverence into his tone, lets his voice drop into the deep, sincere register in which he makes his vows. “ _Lance.”_

He pulls back just enough to fix the brunt of his intense gaze on Lance, meaning burning in his eyes along with the glow of his wolf blood under the moon. His thumb traces soothing arcs over the crest of Lance’s cheekbone, because even when they’re arguing he can’t bear to see the other man upset. “I’ve never felt this way before. I can’t let you go, vendetta be damned.”

And his heart breaks a little more as he sees tears fill Lance’s eyes, as he notes the hopeless shake of his head. “ _No_ ,” Lance says. “We can’t, Keith, my coven — now that they know what you are, they’ll kill you for even coming _close_ to me, you have no idea how bad it is— this was an awful idea, you should leave—“

“Lance,” Keith says again. “I’m not gonna give up on us. I can take care of myself.”

“I _know,_ Keith,” Lance cries, “but even the toughest werewolf can’t stand up to a whole _coven_ of bloodthirsty witches. You’re an idiot if you think I’m gonna let you get hurt just cause— cause I can’t get my feelings under control!”

Oh. 

Keith grins, touched.

“I knew you felt it.”

“Don’t tease me, Keith.” Lance scrubs at his eyes. “I’ve had enough turmoil for one day.” 

“Fine,” Keith says, wrapping Lance in his arms and pressing a kiss to his hairline. He’s always been helpless to deny Lance anything. 

They hold each other for a long moment.

“Tell me when I can see you again,” Keith whispers. “Please.”

Lance pulls back just slightly, fixing Keith with one of the most serious looks he’s seen on the boy. But his eyes aren’t hopeless any more; they’re starting to harden into that warm, strong determination Keith loves so much.

“It’ll be hard,” Lance says. “We’ll have to be secret about it, cover all our tracks. At least until we can convince our families to hear us out.”

“Yes,” Keith agrees, heart fluttering, giddy with it. 

“We won’t be able to talk to each other in class, or to hang out freely like we used to. We’ll have to change the names for each other in our phones and come up with cover stories for when we’re with each other.”

“Yes,” Keith says again.

“And I’ll have to make us charms to guard against scrying, so no one in my coven can tell we’ve been talking, and you’ll have to figure out something on your end to keep your pack—“

“ _Yes,”_ Keith says, and kisses him quiet.

Lance melts into it perfectly, arms coming up to rest softly around Keith’s neck. And standing there, arms around Lance’s waist, kissing this beautiful boy from his dreams, Keith doesn’t mind going to the ends of the earth — to the moon herself — and back to keep their love alive.

Having Lance in his arms is paradise. And that’s so, so, _so_ worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading!! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos and/or commenting! That would make my ~year~!! (Fun fact, my birthday is Monday and the best present EVER would be getting a lot of love on this fic or my other works <3 <3)
> 
> I really wanted to get out a little Halloween special this year, which is actually based off some art I posted on tumblr/twitter a bit ago! Not quite sure how to insert a photo here... but that being said, I have a lot of worldbuilding in mind for this AU! Feel free to ask questions about it, and let me know if you'd like to see more :)))
> 
> Also: if you like, consider subscribing to my profile! Next update will be the conclusion to my fic "burnin' up" (previously named "i got a fever.."). Any of you guys who are still waiting patiently for that, you're the real MVPs! Thanks for bearing with me as college kicks my ass hehe
> 
> I hope everyone has the BEST Halloween!! <3


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